


Out of the Night

by WeepingRian



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Its in there, Pre-Curse, eventual Rumbelle, kind of, shadowy shadows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4466813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeepingRian/pseuds/WeepingRian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enchanted Forest is filled with magic, but shadows (especially the Dark One's) might be the most magical beings of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Night

As a boy, Rumplestiltskin’s shadow would quiver. It was a frightened, little thing, staying close to its master. It never moved too far away, out of fear of the darker, unknown world.

Rumplestiltskin was certainly surrounded by a darker, unknown world, even at such a young age.

When the boy faced the Shadow of Neverland, his own hid close. It understood greatness when it saw it, and knew that there would be no arguing with the Shadow. So as its master cried out for his father, Rumplestiltskin’s shadow dutifully trailed behind, hoping that the Shadow of Neverland would pay it no mind. Quietly, it felt its master’s pain; it wanted to stand up for Rumplestiltskin and force the Shadow to take them back. But the Shadow radiated anger and coldness. To face such a creature would mean certain death for its master, and Rumplestiltskin’s shadow certainly did not want that.

So it stayed silent and unnoticeable, as Rumplestiltskin was ripped away from the father that never loved him. The boy went back to the Spinsters that would end up raising him. His shadow went back to quivering in fear. And this became the moment that the great, wide, unknown world knew that this little boy with a frightened shadow would have a great destiny. Not a good destiny, per se, but a great one nonetheless.

X

Overtime, the boy grew into a man, and the man got married. That day, his shadow did not tremble, but glowed with hope for a future where Rumplestiltskin no longer lived under his father’s reputation. As he stood on that altar, Rumplestiltskin felt lighter. He was a man now, and a man made his own name in the world (or the village, as it was). Rumplestiltskin was ready to face the world. He was ready to leave his past, and his father, behind. He wanted to be a good husband who provided for his new bride. It was a noble desire: purely innocent and wholly naïve.

His bride’s shadow danced like a devil. As the man and the woman said their “I do’s,” her shadow held out its hand, as thought expecting payment for the services rendered by its mistress. Rumplestiltskin’s shadow had nothing to offer, of course. It was a poor shadow belonging to a poor man. It only had itself (which it hoped would be enough).  
The woman’s shadow stared long and hard at Rumplestiltskin’s. If it had a face, the eyes would be piercing slits, like a snake’s. As it were, there was nothing but a black hole where the head was. Still, the unwavering stillness of the woman’s shadow only served to make Rumplestiltskin’s more and more uncomfortable. It shifted, trying desperately not to quiver. It did not want to start its master’s marriage off with an act of fear. It knew Rumplestiltskin was looking forward to shedding the stigma of “coward;” it would rather rot then force its master to continue to carry that burden.

But as the seconds dragged on, Rumplestiltskin’s shadow buzzed with almost indistinguishable nervous energy until it finally gave a discernable shack. With that outward show of terror, the woman’s shadow nodded and followed the woman down the aisle, leaving Rumplestiltskin’s shadow with a sense of emptiness and disgust. Slowly, the glowing happiness faded to be replaced by its comfortable quivering. As Rumplestiltskin looked forward to a future free of any stigmas, his shadow knew the truth: cowards could never escape their pasts.

And so sadness reigned on the day of Rumplestiltskin’s wedding. Through it all, the man with the unfortunate childhood drew ever closer to the looming darkness in his future. The world already knew this would only end in heartache.

And now, the shadow knew, too.

X

It was several years before the Ogre War finally found Rumplestiltskin. During that time, he and his wife lived happily enough. Their marriage was not one of love, but they were content. Rumplestiltskin spun and made a living for his small family. The woman took care of all the household duties, as per custom. It wasn’t a fairytale situation, but then again, they weren’t living in a fairytale. The real world required hard work and a firm disposition. Rumplestiltskin might have often found himself lacking in the latter…  
They lived happily enough.

Their shadows told a different story. Underneath the masters’ goodwill and commonality brewed a seething resentment for each other, only discernable in the actions of their shadows. The woman felt that Rumplestiltskin was holding her back from seeing the world and accomplishing her dreams. Her shadow, consequently, could often be found gazing out the window (if one looked closely enough at a shadow, that is, and many do not). It would take every chance it received to slip away to the harbors, and listen to the stories the sailors told. It learned about far away lands were genies ruled, and seas that contained monsters larger than castles. It heard stories about princesses that were saved by brave heroes and kisses that woke sleeping beauties. It listened and it yearned. And when night came, and the shadows were lost to the darkness, it slipped into its mistress’s dreams and spun tales of what could be, if only Rumplestiltskin was not around.

Rumplestiltskin’s shadow, for its part, resented the woman’s constant reminders of its master’s weaknesses. It was trying so hard to be brave, to help Rumplestiltskin be a good husband, yet the woman’s shadow would show nothing but cool indifference or seething hatred towards it.

It blamed itself. It knew that it would oftentimes be found quivering uncontrollably. It knew this was due to its master’s unconscious belief in his own cowardliness. It was attempting to unlearn this conditioned habit, but something so engrained was not so easily forgotten. Shadows are the representations of their master’s barest souls; they are the unconscious desires and fears and thoughts that people try so hard to bury deep inside themselves. Their true nature is lost in their darkness; humans can only see what they know. And oftentimes, humans do not know themselves.

But shadows know. And shadows see.

So Rumplestiltskin’s shadow could not escape its master’s nature. And it could not escape the unflinching, knowing, darkened eyes of the wife. It gave up trying and allowed itself to wallow in its cowardliness.

After a while, a routine was established. In the mornings, the woman would make breakfast and kiss her husband goodbye. He would go to the market and attempt to sell the yarn he made the day before. In the afternoon, he would return to spend the rest of the day spinning. At night, the woman made dinner and would give him yet another kiss before they both went to bed. Their shadows, however, would spend the day avoiding each other. Upon day break, the woman’s would immediately go off to stare out the window, while Rumplestiltskin’s would follow after him, quivering all the way. Upon their return, the woman’s shadow would set up residence in the middle of the room, staring with an unnerving gaze at the man’s shadow. For its part, it would sit dutifully next to Rumplestiltskin, like a scolded young boy in time-out.

Only at night would the shadow allow itself some rest from its nature. It would gaze at the stars, and wonder what its world would be like if it could only allow itself to be brave.

It was at night when the shadow was at its lightest.

X

This was how the years passed. Almost happiness turned into polite indifference turned into quiet disdain.

So when the draft came, the shadow found that it could be happy for its master. Rumplestiltskin could prove his worth to his wife, and maybe—just maybe—she would stop wishing for something more. And the shadow could finally escape the constant loathing that only it knew Rumplestiltskin’s wife felt.

As Rumplestiltskin left for war, his wife kissed him goodbye, her shadow looking on with intrigue. For a moment, it wondered if it had missed something in Rumplestiltskin; maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t the wretched coward it believed him to be. It studied his shadow, finding it (somewhat) confident and (mostly) steady. It wondered how it could have missed this change.

So it did something it never expected to do: it gave his shadow a kiss--

And then moved quickly away, back to its normal perch on the window. But the damage was done, and Rumplestiltskin went to war with a spring in his step and a peppy, elated shadow.

Many men go off to war—men that are brave and talented and strong. But all men die, and many do so at the hands of another. Rumplestiltskin might have been overjoyed to prove himself, but if one thing was for certain, he was headed towards death.

It was inevitable.

He arrived at camp and was greeted by corpses strewn in a pile (for there was no time for a proper burial). All around him were dirty men with lost limbs or lost minds. They looked at him through their dead eyes, the only glint of hope shining through when they glanced at the corpses.

All men die, and these were certainly grateful for that.

Rumplestiltskin walked into camp and saw what war really was. And his shadow was no longer elated, but afraid. The man himself, however, was a good liar. He spent years convincing himself that his wife could grow to care for him, that the town could come to see him as more than the son of a coward. In this moment, Rumplestiltskin convinced himself of heroic victories and endless esteem. He would be granted knighthood for his bravery; he would turn these broken, pale, imitations-of-men into soldiers worthy of the cause they were fighting for.

(A spinner with a poor past and an even poorer future has only his dreams to keep him alive.)

But his shadow did not lie to itself—could not, in fact— and knew they would die in this godforsaken place. War was no place for a lowly spinner that had never held a sword. The confidence that had filled the shadow at its home slowly drizzled out, replaced by bleak realism. It flitted from corpse to corpse, witnessing bodies that had been torn apart, their blood completely drained. It saw men—breathing, but not living—getting ready to be sent back out to their nightmares. They were strapping any weapon they could find to their back. Too often, the shadow saw sharpened pieces of bone being brandished like swords. This is what its master would become: a weapon, to be used by the next man to die. Even in death, men must serve.

All around was the gray earth, gray sky, gray tents, and gray men, and the shadow should have felt at home. There was no sunshine here; the shadow did not have to be confined to the limited form that daylight brings. It could stretch and move and wander amidst the darkness. Instead, it stayed close to its master, praying that neither of them would be infected by the diseased souls of these soldiers.

And amidst all the depravity of the camp, Rumplestiltskin came across a girl. He found himself entranced; his shadow found itself disgusted. This little girl-- who was so cold and alone and lost in the big, cruel world during a big, cruel war—had a shadow like a fox: all cunning and no sympathy. Rumplestiltskin was her prey, and his shadow could do nothing but watch fearfully as hers caressed him, luring him in with slight touches and crafty words. Her shadow swirled around him, twisting up his body, consuming him.

A fierce need to protect its master from this… this… witch rose in the shadow’s black chest. It tried desperately to pull Rumplestiltskin away from the seer; it clawed at his clothes and tugged at his hands. She would only bring pain.

But she said pretty words, and the spinner was entranced. He ignored his shadow, and placed his beliefs into the hands of a fox. In the end, as Rumplestiltskin maimed his leg and officially appointed himself deserter in one fell swoop, the shadow could do nothing but watch.

It led the way back to the village, both master and shadow stumbling along the path.

X

Rumplestiltskin returned to a baby and an ashamed wife. But, when he held his little boy for the first time, he had never felt more powerful. The world bled out; he was no longer the coward with the estranged wife. He was a father, and that was the most powerful magic of all.

In that moment, his shadow felt strong, as though it could fight the world and win. It no longer mattered that the little girl-fox had tricked its master. It didn’t matter that the woman’s shadow would no longer stay in the house, or that the little wife refused to look her husband in the eye. All that mattered was the little boy, with a shadow too large for the desolate world Rumplestiltskin lived in. It was a curious, little shadow for an adventurous, brave boy.

But, time moves forward and all moments end. Rumplestiltskin returned to being the town coward, and his shadow returned to its quivering. It was only at night that Rumplestiltskin allowed himself to feel brave. He was there: living and breathing and alive; his son would never know what it was like to be without a father.

Rumplestiltskin was willing to die for his boy, but more importantly, he was willing to live. So while he was mocked and scorned and hated throughout the day by a town that despised him for abandoning a purposeless war and by a wife that resented him for dragging her down with him, he could keep persevering. Their hatred meant nothing; it was the price he had to pay to be with his son.

He felt indestructible.

He should have felt afraid. Fate swirled around his son like a shark circling its prey. Rumplestiltskin thought he was living in the light, but he was only being dragged further into the darkness. The boy had cemented Rumplestiltskin’s fate; there was no longer a chance to return. 

X

So all was not fine in Rumplestiltskin’s house, and his family was no longer “happy enough.” The boy grew older and Rumplestiltskin grew sadder and his wife grew angrier, until the only life in that house was the shadows.

One day, when the woman could no longer handle the stares of strangers or the pitiful smile of her husband, she followed her shadow to the docks. There, she happened upon the dashing Captain Killian Jones, a pirate as royal as his name with a ship as large as his…

He was a snake, and boasted a slippery shadow to prove it. It discovered the woman’s shadow, confidently sitting on the edge of the ship and watching its mistress fall in love with a pirate. They slid around each other—curling and tricking and teasing—until they had merged into one (only following the example of their masters’ hearts, of course).

Rumplestiltskin’s shadow stood off at a distance, hidden and watching the entire torrid affair.

And when the woman left, it was the shadow (and not Rumplestiltskin) that was angry. For in that moment, it knew something its master did not: his wife was alive. She was alive and well and completely unremorseful. The pirate offered her a life of adventure, without any stigmas or responsibilities.

Killian Jones offered her freedom, and she took it.

The shadow wanted to hate her. She lied to its master, she abandoned her son, and she fell in love with a man Rumplestiltskin could never hope to be. The shadow hated her (but a part of it didn’t, because deep down it understood). But that did not change that the boy was motherless, the man wifeless, and the people even more vindictive towards the coward. With each passing day, the shadow watched as its master lost a little bit more of himself.

The man, who had been so optimistic for so many years, was hopeless. And the shadow could never forgive the woman for that.

So when, years later, Rumplestiltskin came across his wife, it was his shadow that momentarily took control. The rage it had felt boiled to the surface; it spilled out, swallowing Rumplestiltskin, who was already so susceptible to any dark emotion due to the dreaded Dark One living inside his soul.

The shadow poured out its anger into its master and for a moment Rumplestiltskin lost control. He remembered his son- the son that had been abandoned by his mother and then by his father. And in that moment, Rumplestiltskin hated his wife with every ounce of his heart-- hated her because of what he had done. His son, his Baelfire, was gone and it was her fault, not his, hers.

With the Dark One whispering in his veins and his shadow whispering at his back, Rumplestiltskin struck out and destroyed his wife. And for once, his shadow did not quiver. It held the world in its hands, and the world was so small, and it was so powerful. The woman had taken everything from its master. She had caused all of this. The shadow knew exactly what it wanted, and it wanted her dead.

Her life bled out at the hands of Rumplestiltskin. His shadow stared-- long and cold and cruel-- at hers. If it had eyes, they would be piercing slits, like a snake’s. Her shadow trembled under such unmoving scrutiny, as Rumplestiltskin’s had so many years ago. And when Rumplestiltskin finally—finally-- crushed her heart completely, the woman’s shadow went still and that was the end.

The shadow had never felt so light.

X

But before the woman died, the war raged on. Men no longer wanted to die, but they could not stop fighting (because they did not know how). So they sent the children instead.

War was full of death, and once again, Rumplestiltskin’s life was propelling him in that direction. For surely—surely-- if his son, his Baelfire, his life, was sent to fight (was sent to die) then Rumplestiltskin would crumble into dust and fade away with the light. He was afraid, and his shadow was resigned, and the boy was brave. Too brave. Brave enough to think that a hopeless situation was worth fighting for, that they could win if only someone would stand tall enough. So the boy grew taller with confidence and the man grew smaller with fear and the shadow prayed that no one would notice its black tears (for even shadows can cry).

And the day finally came when the boy would have to leave, so Rumplestiltskin did what any desperate parent would: found a way out. The shadow knew it was a bad idea. They should leave magic alone; it could only bring pain. Oh, but Baelfire’s death would bring so much more (is a parent really a parent if they have no child?), and even if the master could go on, his shadow could not.

So instead of stopping its master, the shadow gripped his hand and helped plunge the dagger into the Dark One’s heart. As it felt the first slimy tendrils of darkness creeping up from its feet, it knew they had made a mistake. But it did not regret it—could not-- because they had saved their son. So it freely welcomed the darkness and the penance it would pay, and only a small part of itself wondered if maybe there were some costs that are too high.

Rumplestiltskin could not truly be faulted for what he did (because a parent needs a child). But in that moment, his life went black. The darkness arrested his heart, and the fate Rumplestiltskin had been speeding towards finally arrived. His shadow no longer quivered, and the man no longer looked down at his boots. The world was his (at the expense of his soul) and it was done.

X

And so, Rumplestiltskin ended a war, brought the children home, and ultimately destroyed himself. The man learned to kill (and the man learned to like it) and the monster that now resided inside him rejoiced. It took control of Rumplestiltskin’s heart, and every beat pumped the darkness through his veins, until he bled evil. Only then was the monster truly satisfied. Rumplestiltskin might be a frail man, but he was enough. Darkness festers best in small places, after all.

So now the meek little coward could destroy the world with a snap of his fingers. He was drunk off the magic he wielded, consumed but the blood-thirst that dwelt inside him like smoke. Yet, in a far forgotten corner of his soul, the spinner raged against the hatred. But the spinner was very small in the vast, cruel darkness and there was no light to guide him.

And Rumplestiltskin was certainly not known for his bravery.

So the little spinner sat where the monster put him, and although he fought, he never rebelled (for what if the monster fought back?). The monster took control of the body and the little spinner stayed forgotten and the shadow was torn. For now, it had two masters: a monster and a man, and it did not know whom it should serve. The shadow felt strong (but it also felt afraid, more afraid than it had ever been). And although it tried to stand proud for the monster, its master called to it, and it could not forget the past.

The shadow tried to. It felt free and uninhibited, as though it was its own being, with no master and no emotions. It could break itself off from the feet of Rumplestiltskin and go where it wanted and do what it wanted (and it tried to forget that the Shadow of Neverland was the same way). The slime of the darkness clung to every inch of it, but oh, it was a small price to pay. It would give the darkness its soul for the chance to live.

(The monster coldly smiled, deep in the heart of Rumplestiltskin, and knew what it was doing.)

So the shadow experienced life for the first time. It was intoxicated with the beauty of freedom. It had lived in the black spaces of the world for so long that it had forgotten there was color. It thrived, believing that this must be what it is like to be human, and never realizing the tricks of the monster.

And yet, as wonderful as this new world was to the shadow, it could always hear the spinner crying. It knew its master was trying to escape, but the freedom was so pure and the guilt was so dirty, that the shadow shoved the tiny voice of its master into the deepest recesses of its black heart (and that was probably its most human act of all). It pretended it could not hear, pretended the monster was master, and so, the shadow lied.

Thus, the shadow was becoming man and the man was becoming a shadow of himself and nothing in the cruel world made any sense at all.

In the chaos, the monster reigned. It terrorized the people of the village, punishing anyone who had ever wronged its host. Rumplestiltskin relished his power and the fear of the weak, mindless fools, and all was well (because he could not see how blind he was).

Together, Rumplestiltskin and his shadow slowly forgot the reason for the darkness, even as the boy stood shaking in the corner.

X

Baelfire had always been a brave boy with an honorable shadow. But now, the man he had known as a kind and gentle father was gone. Rumplestiltskin was replaced by a crocodile, with a twisted smile and hungry eyes. The boy did not know this man, but he knew he had to love him. So the boy stayed with his father, even as death surrounded them, and tried to remain a devoted (if not lonely) son.

He was afraid, and rightfully so, for his innocent world had gone cold. He had been a naïve boy who believed he could save everyone. Now, he desperately wanted to save only one, but Rumplestiltskin grew more vicious with each passing day. The boy, who had been so filled with hope, lost his way with his father. Their house grew colder and their hearts turned to stone and no one could save them (not even themselves).

So the sad boy stayed inside out of fear and obligation, and Rumplestiltskin continued to terrorize the town. Baelfire’s shadow stood close to its master, even as Rumplestiltskin’s roamed far. The boy’s shadow sensed something dark and festering and rotten at the core of Rumplestiltskin’s; it knew that the freedom the shadow enjoyed was only an illusion. It was trapped by the monster just as much as the man was. But the boy’s shadow could do nothing but watch and shake and pray to the dishonorable gods until one day—

The small blue demon was shadowless. Baelfire’s shadow knew not to trust her (for everyone knows that creatures without shadows only bring trouble). But she offered a way out, a way to end the darkness and save the man that still lurked deep in the soul of the Dark One. Baelfire hardly hoped anymore—hardly even smiled—and his shadow knew better, but it wanted to be a hero. So it extended its hand and took the bean from the shadowless fairy, even as everything in its being told it to flee.

In the end, it wished it had run.

Rumplestiltskin clung to the dagger, and Baelfire clung to his father’s hand, and the shadows faced off. Baelfire’s shadow regretted trusting the demon-fairy even as the vortex twisted around its master’s legs, dragging him into a vacuum. It wanted to hide, and to act like the little boy it was, and have its father hold him. But Rumplestiltskin was no father-- not anymore-- and the shadow would not cower in front of such power. It was angry now (for is a parent really a parent if they abandon their child?) and it stood steadfast, glaring into the black emptiness that was Rumplestiltskin’s shadow.

For its part, the man’s shadow felt alive. It stood at the opening between worlds and felt magic swirl around it. The air smelled sweet, like dark chocolate and strawberries, and lightning fizzed and crackled around it. There was nothing more powerful than traveling between worlds, and the shadow thrived, gaining energy the longer the portal stayed open. It was growing and full and everything was good. But a part of its heart, the part still connected with its true master, was screaming in agony. They had fought so hard, too hard, and soon there would be nothing left.

But the shadow was overcome by the monster, and it could only understand power, not love (never love). It did not even notice the boy’s shadow, did not feel the anger and hatred directed towards it. It only felt a weight that was dragging it down towards a wicked world where it would be nothing at all. It could not allow such a thing to occur. It had to protect itself! It had to protect its master and the power and the Dark One! The Dark One must live, there was no other way, it had to be saved, and the shadow itself had to do it, because its master was a coward—always a coward—and it must be the brave one for once! It did not quiver anymore! It was strong, it was magic, it was the world…

And it opened its hand.

Everything stopped. The spinner screamed and for just a moment, overpowered the monster. The shadow came to its senses, and found itself staring into the face of the boy’s. Pain raced through its body, as their boy—their life—slipped through their hands.

Rumplestiltskin’s shadow did not see the moment the boy dropped into another land. It did not see the green light disappear. It did not even see its master scrambling along the ground, desperately calling out for his son. All it saw, even long after that day was dead, was the image of the cold, unyielding shadow staring into its soul, challenging it to look away. The resentment in its black eyes was nailed into its heart, and the shadow knew that it had lost their son in more ways than one.

After that day, it stopped traveling the world, stopped ripping away from its master, and it stopped embracing its illusionary freedom. It stayed close to Rumplestiltskin, going with him on deals, and remained dead even as it was forced to go on living. 

 

X

Years turned into decades which turned into centuries, and it all became dust. Time was meaningless to Rumplestiltskin and it lazily flew around him with the wind. He grew older (but his body never changed) and his mind became sharper. Together, the monster and the man learned how extraordinary words were, and they used that knowledge to bring kings to their knees. After Baelfire’s… disappearance… the spinner regained a semblance of control over his soul. The Dark One still terrorized the Enchanted Forest, but the spinner could twist its actions for his purpose. Pain had grounded the man; he was resolute, and no amount of darkness was going to keep him from his son.

So Rumplestiltskin set out on a quest, as though he were a malevolent knight. He searched for the curse the blue demon mentioned-- never giving up, never losing hope, but growing more desperate and crazed as time swan on. It only served to make him more dangerous.

(And oh, how the monster relished the violence and carnage. It would comply with the mousy sinner’s wishes, as long as he gave it more blood… need blood…mine…more...MORE!)

And yet, even as Rumplestiltskin’s instability deepened, his shadow found itself weary and frail. Sadness squeezed around its heart, and even on the brightest day, the shadow would only see gloom. The memory of Baelfire’s shadow haunted it; it would dance outside its vision, always staring—always glaring—and the shadow felt trapped. It wanted to give up and lie down, to be buried underneath the sand. It wanted to fade into the earth and be forgotten by all (like their son). Its master would never create the curse and they were foolish for trying. They needed to give up, to let go, to waste away. It was all they deserved.

But Rumplestiltskin was determined, despite the crushing guilt and grief that was so evident in his shadow, and he would not stop trying. So the shadow was forced to go on living (to go on grieving) and there was never any refuge from its pain.

It was forced to trapeze after its master, watching as he made deals with the most desperate of souls. For a time, a small part of it would feel shame for what its master was doing; Rumplestiltskin was once a lowly beggar, like the people he met. They only wanted hope.

But, everyone has to pay a price. Magic and miracles do not come free in the Enchanted Forest, not even for the Dark One.

So it was only a brief flicker of guilt that would flash across the shadow’s heart, before it was quickly squashed. It did not have time for such nonsensical feelings, not when it could bath in agony and swim through torment. The world was pain, and the shadow basked in its glow.

(Some days, it wondered if the monster had bestowed a bit of a flair for the dramatics upon it, just like it did for the master.)

For a time, it seemed as though Rumplestiltskin was making headway. Even the shadow began to believe that the deals were for the best; they would get them to Bae, and that was really all that mattered. But, as centuries passed and they were still no closer to creating the curse, the shadow began to resent the deals. They were distractions, unhelpful. The master was only playing with his power, and not focusing. Their boy, their poor boy, was all alone in an unknown, magicless world (the worst kind, really), and they were wasting time with these petty people and their petty problems. The shadow began to forget the poor spinner that its master once was, and with that, lost all guilt for deceiving their prey. These fools only brought their problems upon themselves, anyway. They did not deserve the sympathy of the Dark One or his shadow. It began to play with its meals: hiding behind them and whispering nightmares in their ears; creeping through their homes at night to frighten their children; encouraging them to sign the deal, even as the fine print stole their hearts and homes away. It did not realize that it was the one getting distracted.

But even the shadow could not run from the pain, and when three-hundred years had passed, the shadow could no longer go on. It was lonely, with only the man and the image of the boy’s shadow for company. And although it tricked, (and cried), and pranced along, insanity was creeping along the shadow’s outer edges. It began to pray to the dishonorable gods for something—anything—to come along and numb its heart.

X

The first time the Dark One met Belle, she was five years old. Her mother was making a deal—something about murder and scandal and intrigue (it was all rather boring)—and the girl was near. She was reading under a tree and thoroughly ignoring the dealing adults. Her shadow, however, was slowly creeping closer to the pair. Rumplestiltskin, of course, was paying it no mind. He had a deal on his hands and an odd little shadow would not distract him from what he wanted. But his shadow noticed. It openly stared, wondering at the nature of this shadow. For while its mistress sat primly and quietly, like a good lady, her shadow was tricky (but not discreet) and nosy (but still refined). Rumplestiltskin’s shadow had never met anything quite like it.

The shadow was certainly intrigued by the curious girl that could read. So that night (and many nights afterward) it did something it had not done in years: snuck away. It watched her shadow from the blackness. It was a strange, tiny thing. It would constantly roam around and get itself into trouble (and managed to get itself back out again). The girl, of course, never noticed this strange behavior. For all she knew, it was a dutiful shadow, perfectly good and proper. A shadow fit for a lady. Of course, her shadow was devoted to her. Its mistress was pure and innocent and beautiful. She could make the flowers grow faster, the birds sing louder, the people smile brighter. Her shadow loved her (but it still enjoyed a good trick).

Then again, so did the girl.

She was often caught sneaking into the war room or stuffing her pockets with hot buns. Once or twice, she managed to hide a fake mouse in the kitchens or dump wine on the prelates’ heads (they were horribly uptight men). She even cut the hair of her lady-in-waiting in her sleep, once, thinking it would all be a good laugh.

Belle never did that again.

But for all her tricks, the girl was a relative angel. She was kind to everyone she met, and loyal to her father. She was smart and clever and eager to prove herself. With each passing day, the shadow felt itself slowly come back to life, as her spirit infected its crevices. It blinked in her light, like a newborn lamb emerging from the womb.

She was everything and it was nothing, but it wanted to try. It wanted to be the best for her. It wanted to live again.

And oh, how different was she from Rumplestiltskin: all light with a spot of darkness at the bottom of her heart, while he was darkness incarnate with barely a flicker of light left.

So when Rumplestiltskin received a message to save a small province (something about ‘help, we’re dying’), the shadow whispered encouragements into its master’s ear to head the call. It convinced him that this deal was far too good to pass up; they needed what the nobles could provide.

So Rumplestiltskin danced his way into a castle and the shadow pointed out the tiny girl and the master caught himself a maid. In the end, all were pleased. 

X

The first few days with the new maid were… difficult. The girl cried and Rumplestiltskin’s head throbbed. He was about ready to let her go (only his reputation holding him back) when the unspeakable happened: a thief broke in.

Granted, as Rumplestiltskin stood there, skinning the man alive, he did feel slightly bad. Each lash tore into his mind, cutting open old wounds (“coward,” they had cried, “weak”). The Dark One was not weak, not anymore, and he beat the thief harder. It was undeserved, but he had the past whispering in his ear, and Rumplestiltskin was not known for being rational.

As its master tortured the man in the dungeons, the shadow stayed upstairs with the beauty. She was defiant, even in the face of such violence and rage. While screams ripped through the castle, the girl read, as though it was a normal Tuesday afternoon. But when the master demanded she clean the blood off his aprons (a request that seemed perfectly reasonable to the shadow), she boldly opposed the monster.

Both the shadow and the man were amazed, although neither dared to show it. No one had ever faced the Dark One in such a way, and they certainly did not live for very long if they did. This girl was determined to leap over the boundaries Rumplestiltskin had set for himself years before. The insolent girl needed to learn that people could not act that way around the Dark One. He was the most powerful being of all! He could turn her into a frog, if the mood took him. There was nothing he couldn’t do (except realm jump, of course).

So he decided to make her pay.

But when the girl hugged the beast later on, the shadow felt its heart wildly beat. It felt as though it was about to be ripped into two. She was braver and kinder than the shadow could have ever imagined. With each small smile, it became more and more besotted with her. The monster slowly lost its grip over the shadow’s soul, as it found a far fairer beauty to believe in.

It took to following her around after that, like a puppy on a leash. Belle would clean, and the shadow would trail after to finish her work (she wasn’t a very good maid). It would follow along the page as she read, hoping that they might have something to talk about (and forgetting that it could not talk at all). At night, it would sneak into her room to make sure she was warm enough. It even took up baking, though quickly dropped it, as it realized it could not hold a tray (or anything for that matter). It was happy for the first time in three-hundred years, but it was not enough. While the shadow desperately wanted to sit and soak up her warmth, its master was intent on ignoring the girl. It was forced to leave her behind as the master went on deals. She was not allowed to come of course, she would only get in the way (and besides, it was far too dangerous…). But even the Dark One could not stay cold against Belle’s light forever. She would bring him flowers from the garden, and sit close to him during dinner. She touched his hand and gave him hugs with a dainty smile on her face. Oftentimes, she would sit nearby and read or watch him spin. Once, she even asked if he would teach her—he was so pleased—but she tangled the yarn and almost broke the wheel.

She was not allowed to even clean it after that.

Rumplestiltskin’s glass heart slowly started to break, but he was nothing if not stubborn. He refused to acknowledge his feelings for the girl. And besides, there was no way she could ever feel the same way. He was a monster, after all.

That was all fine for the shadow. If its master ignored the girl, that meant it had her all to itself. It would happily bear the burden of spending time with Belle, if Rumplestiltskin was not so inclined. So it continued to trail after her and Rumplestiltskin went on many more deals than was necessary and slowly, Belle began to notice the shadow.

She asked him about it once. “Rumple?” She questioned. She was always questioning. “Why doesn’t your shadow follow you around, like most shadows?”

Rumplestiltskin was making a potion that would make the drinker appear as if dead, to be dealt to a girl named Juliet--- how quaint. He had no time for his silly maid or her bothersome questions (or so he told himself).

“What? Doesn’t he?” He asked distractedly. Rumplestiltskin was slowly dripping black liquid into the potion. He needed the exact number of drops to fall, one small mistake could be extremely--

“--Tragic,” he blinked at Belle, one extra drop falling into the potion, as she leaned on the table next to him. Her arm was almost touching him, her body heat radiating between them (something Rumplestiltskin was not distinctly aware of, thank you). He almost gulped as he stared into her blue eyes, but stopped at the last second. He was the Dark One, the stealer of babes, the terror of nightmares. He did not gulp because a pretty little maid batted her eyelashes at him.

Her shadow silently giggled as his pretended not to notice the exchange.

“Is it because of magic?” Belle asked.

“Is what because of magic?”

“Your shadow. Does he do whatever he wants because you have magic?”

Rumplestiltskin looked behind him. He couldn’t possibly fathom what she was talking about. His shadow was standing behind him, as all good shadows should. The shadow in question, however, was nervous that Belle had caught on to its little game. Fear pumped through its black heart, doubt creeping along its spine. What if she was disgusted by it? What if she sent it away? The shadow stood stalk still, hoping that she would forget all about it if it didn’t move.

Rumplestiltskin, for his part, was battling back dread and praying that her inquisitive eyes didn’t catch on. He only knew of one shadow that didn’t follow its person around: the Shadow of—

“Stupid girl! There is only one place where shadows don’t follow behind you, and it is most certainly not a place where you want to find yourself.” Belle looked at him curiously, and Rumplestiltskin, despite his best efforts, couldn’t help but get momentarily lost in her eyes.

“Now go away, you pesky girl! You made me mess up. If anyone dies, I’m blaming you!” he snapped at her when he recovered.

Belle just giggled, traipsing away, while Rumplestiltskin attempted not to smile.

 

X

The shadow knew it was in love with the girl long before its master admitted his feelings. It would often run around the castle with her shadow, chasing each other-- catching, falling, laughing—and it was free.

This was not the same freedom the shadow had known before Bae…left. It was simpler. Quieter. Lighter. It was real, and for the first time, the shadow realized how the monster had fooled it so. It was angry, but not for long, because Belle was laughing or her shadow was dancing or the master was blushing, and his shadow would forget all about everything but the blue eyes and the delicate touches.

For once in the shadow’s long life, it was truly happy.

But neither the shadow nor the man were meant to live in such bliss. Fate did not appreciate the girl. The man was destined for greatness, and nothing—certainly no simple, magicless child—would tear him away from that. The monster ate ever more fervently at the spinner’s soul, weaving doubts into his mind and insanity into his shadow. It could not lose its grip on Rumplestiltskin: he belonged to the darkness.

So fate did what it had to, and whispered into an evil queen’s ear.

She was the meddling type, who had been wronged by Rumplestiltskin too many times. Her shadow was weak; while the woman raged, her shadow would cower in the corner out of fear. The Evil Queen might put on a good show, but inside, she felt like a child.

Rumplestiltskin had always exploited that.

Now, she understood love when she saw it—she had, of course, once had it—and knew that the little girl on the road was confused by her feelings. Love was not something to be understood, and the foolish child was thinking too much. So what if the queen put thoughts into Belle’s head? She only said what the shadows wanted—but couldn’t—get out.

It all ended in heartache, of course. There really is no other way. Love stories are never very good if they end happily.

Belle left. And although Rumplestiltskin was in a fouler mood than usual, his shadow was downright panicking. It feared that it would never get the chance to see her again, going so far as to consider severing himself off from the master’s feet again in order to find her. There were bandits on the road, evil queens, murderers. For the gods’ sakes, there was Snow White! What if that petty princess recruited Belle for her war? Too many horrible terrors could reign down upon the girl, and the shadow would not be there to stop them (forgetting, of course, that it couldn’t stop them). She might be gone, forever, and the shadow wouldn’t even have gotten to say goodbye!

It wanted to hate Rumplestiltskin—couldn’t—but wanted to. The master was so good at destroying everything (the shadow was amazed at its vindictive thoughts towards its master; it had never before dared to think ill of him). Rumplestiltskin lost himself, lost Bae, and lost Belle. There was nothing left. So while the man tripled the effort on enacting the curse, the shadow would sneak off at night—still connected, mind you; it was not so naïve anymore—until it finally found Belle.

She was sad, her shadow drooping, and her cheeks full of liquor. The shadow did not dare approach her (deep down, it was still a coward), but watched from afar. She was as lovely as it remembered, and just as willful. Belle managed to defeat a monster with compassion (as she often does), and make friends with a warrior. She was perfection incarnate.

Love is blind, but it is oh, so sweet, as well.

The world was bright, although it was night, and everything gleamed and glowed. Wherever she stepped, the flowers bloomed and the birds sang and although she was sad, she made the world happy. The shadow was too entranced to notice as ice crept along the ground and the air grew colder, until it was too late. An evil queen was on the road, as the shadow had anticipated, and Belle was gone.

Forever.

X

The shadow could only watch as its master grieved, believing his love was dead. There was no way to tell him, to warn him, of what the queen had done. Her words had ripped Rumplestiltskin apart. His world was shattering, decaying, dying, and he went on living, and couldn’t understand why. He had lost everyone, had paid so many prices, and now it needed to end. He wanted it to end.

But Baelfire was still out there. He would not fail his son again.

So Rumplestiltskin tried to forget the girl, even as the cup glaringly reminded him every day, and the shadow wept. It cried for its love, locked in a tower, alone and scared with no hope for rescue. It cried for its master, who was so fragile and so broken, but who had to keep on fighting (because he did not know how to stop). And it cried for itself, for it had known true happiness, if only for a moment, and was forced back into the darkness.

It had never felt so cold.

As each passing day burned its soul, the shadow attempted to break into the prison. It quickly found that magic barred its entrance; no part of Rumplestiltskin would be allowed inside. Belle was meant to suffer, forever, and the evil queen certainly did not want the monster to interfere. So the shadow waited outside, praying that Belle would see it and know that she was not alone. But the years passed, and the shadow never once saw the blue eyes of its love.

Throughout it all, the Evil Queen and Snow White warred against each other, and Rumplestiltskin played right into the middle (if only to distract himself). The shadow barely noticed. It no longer believed they would ever find their son. If it could stand across a wall from one love and be unable to enter, then Rumplestiltskin had no hope of crossing worlds to find another. 

X

The shadow was so willing to stand outside the tower as fate played around it. It was relatively unconcerned with the affairs of its master, until one day, he decided to make a deal quite unlike the rest.

A princess with fine shoes presented Rumplestiltskin with a quill. And the powerful Dark One looked at the silly, little girl and knew what she was offering. He would be entrapped in a jail that was meant to contain magic. And his shadow, having not yet told its master the dark secret about the girl in the tower, would be unable to leave.

The shadow could not allow such a thing! His master was making a foolish decision, out of grief or optimism, it did not know. But it knew it would be a mistake. The girl would truly be alone to rot in that cell, and the shadow could not allow that to happen. She needed them, and it wanted so desperately to be brave for her. It wanted to be a hero.

So the shadow did the unthinkable: it tried to speak. It had never attempted to do so before, being perfectly fine with following its master around and allowing destiny to run its course. But in this moment, on the verge of imprisonment, love was far stronger than obedience. It loved Belle, with all of its black, unbeating heart. Rumplestiltskin might refuse to acknowledge his feelings, but the shadow knew better. It was true love, the most powerful magic of all (and Rumplestiltskin did enjoy collecting powerful magic).

They could not abandon her. Not again.

But Rumplestiltskin had never learned to listen to his shadow. So while it tried to grab his attention, to rip his hand from the contract, Rumplestiltskin ignored the tiny seed of doubt the shadow was wrestling into his heart. He signed with a flourish and smiled as the magic coursed through his veins and the shadow screamed.

It was done. Rumplestiltskin went willingly to his jail, and the shadow went with him, and they waited for the end of the world while their love sat alone in a tower.


End file.
